


Take the Gun

by Dira Sudis (dsudis)



Category: due South
Genre: Community: ds_flashfiction, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-04-15
Updated: 2010-04-15
Packaged: 2017-10-08 23:05:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,916
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/80429
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dsudis/pseuds/Dira%20Sudis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><em>The lieutenant called them into his office, late in the afternoon on a Thursday. </em></p>
            </blockquote>





	Take the Gun

**Author's Note:**

> This story was first posted for the Movie challenge, on September 29, 2003.

"It's the Feds, detective," he said, dropping all attempt to refer to Ray by a surname. "Apparently the cover is getting shaky, and they want you out of sight--out of Chicago--for a little while."

Fraser hazarded a glance at Ray, who folded his arms and sat up slightly straighter. "Yeah?" he said, in a flip tone that denied the palpable seriousness of the meeting, "Maybe I should go do that weekend in Vegas I been thinking about?"

Welsh frowned quellingly, and pulled out an envelope from the papers before him, pushing it across the desk toward Ray. "You're going to Los Angeles, detective. Here's your plane tickets, and hotel and rental car reservations. Feds are paying for everything, even threw in a nice per diem for you."

Ray sat still a moment longer, then reached forward with one hand, moving only his arm, as though he wanted to involve as little of his body as possible in taking the envelope. He held it in his lap, and didn't look at it.

"Now," Welsh said, sitting back and looking from Ray to Fraser with a slightly less grim air, "they wanted you to just go quietly, thought it was safer if nobody knew where you went or even that you were out of town." Ray snorted, and the lieutenant nodded approvingly. "But I figure, you go on a vacation, you want some company. So I talked to Inspector Thatcher, and we got things fixed up for the Constable here to tag along with you, and of course you guys will be free to mention the nice California vacation you're going on, although you might want to leave out the part about who's paying for it." The lieutenant held out a slimmer envelope to Fraser, and he leaned forward to accept it immediately; it held airline tickets, departing for Los Angeles International from Chicago O'Hare on Friday, returning Sunday. Presumably, he would share hotel accommodations and the rental car with Ray. "Sorry, Constable, I'm afraid your government didn't pony up a per diem."

Fraser waved his hand. "It's quite all right, Lieutenant."

Welsh nodded agreeably. "I figured you'd be understanding. I did manage to arrange a little going away present for you. I talked to the commander, and Inspector Thatcher talked to Ottawa, and we managed to fix up all the paperwork." He handed Fraser a considerably thicker folder, which he again accepted immediately.

Fraser flipped it open, to discover that the top sheet was a permit to carry a concealed firearm. Flipping through the sheets beneath, he determined that he had been granted this permission due to his newly-official status as a deputized member of the Chicago Police Department. "Sir?" he said, hesitantly, as Ray stole a look at the pages and then shifted back into his own seat, his expression inscrutable.

Judging by the assortment of faxed documents in the folder, it was clear a number of people had gone to a great deal of trouble to arrange the permit, and he understood that he was being sent along with Ray because he might be in danger, so a gun might well be useful. On the other hand, he'd been operating without one for years now, and even in Canada he'd rarely used his revolver - ingenuity, patience, the odd hunting knife, and the inestimable weapon that was an RCMP uniform among people who knew the difference between a Mountie and a Beefeater, those had been his standard armament. A gun seemed crude, to say nothing of unnecessarily dangerous, by comparison.

On the gripping hand, the fact that he was permitted to carry a weapon didn't mean he was required to do so. "Thank you, sir," he finally said, to his and Ray's intent stares.

"Yeah," Welsh muttered, with a significant glance in Ray's direction, "Wear it in good health, Constable."

Ray nodded a little, frowning first at Fraser, and then, when he tried to catch Ray's eye, at the floor.

"You guys take the rest of the day, go home and pack. You're flying out tomorrow afternoon. Feds had you booked on the red-eye tonight, but when we went to book Fraser's seat we had to switch you to a later plane."

Ray nodded again, apparently satisfied, and stood. "Come on, Fraser," he said, very quietly, and Fraser followed him out of the office. He went to his desk, put a few things away, and picked up his coat. "All right, Fraser, pitter patter," he said, a shade more loudly than necessary, to the room at large, "Let's get out of here before Welsh changes his mind about our leave."

"Leave?" Dewey repeated, incredulous. "Where you going?"

Ray grinned suddenly, so brightly that Fraser could almost believe he was excited about the trip. "Sunny California." He shook out his parka, in preparation for the walk to the car, and smirked. "Come on Fraser, we gotta pack."

Dewey smirked back, and the expression was significantly less attractive on his face than on Ray's. "California, huh? You guys going to San Francisco to hang out with some of your pals? Maybe catching a connecter to Hawaii?"

Ray's smile turned suddenly hard-edged, and his hand on his parka, out of everyone's sight but Fraser's, went white-knuckled. Fraser could easily read the taunt in Dewey's voice, though he had no idea why a mere suggestion of destinations could insinuate so much. "We're going to LA," Ray snapped, "because it's fucking cold in Chicago in November, and the Mountie may not know any better, but I wanna be warm sometime before the spring thaw."

Dewey snorted knowingly, and Huey shook his head but kept his eyes down on his desk. Ray deliberately loosened his grip on his coat, but his fist clenched again as soon as he began to walk toward the door. Fraser, with a beckoning hand signal to Dief, followed him.

They were in the vestibule, Ray shrugging into his coat and glaring out at the uniformly bright grey sky, when Fraser said, carefully, "Ray, I'm not sure I understand--"

Ray shot him a sharp look and stepped out into the parking lot, Dief dashing ahead through the snow, leaving Fraser nothing to do but follow. Ray said nothing until they were in the car, and then he settled into his seat with a sigh. When he spoke, he directed his words to the dashboard. "He was saying we're gay, Fraser. San Francisco is the gay capital of America, and in Hawaii we could get married, it's legal there. Dewey thinks it's funny to say we're boyfriends."

Fraser stared out the window at the gray snow and the other cars, trying to work out the correct response to this pronouncement, and Ray added, almost meditatively, "Dumb fuck."

Fraser looked over at him then; Ray was glaring at the steering wheel, keys in hand. He was starting to shiver, but didn't start the car. "Ray, perhaps I should say something to him."

Ray shook his head quickly, violently. "No, Fraser, you don't say anything to guys like that, that just makes it worse."

Fraser winced; Ray made that assertion in an uncomfortably certain tone. "Still, Ray, as a police officer--if your colleagues were to believe you to be homosexual, you might well face serious problems."

Ray finally looked up from the steering wheel, meeting Fraser's eyes for the first time since they'd been called into the Lieutenant's office. "Look, Fraser, it doesn't matter. They'll think what they think, and I don't care if the entire Chicago P.D. thinks I'm a fag, as long as I got you watching my back."

Fraser was momentarily stricken speechless, and then he said, "Understood, Ray."

Ray nodded, and turned to face forward again, starting the car and turning up the heater. "We're gonna go back to my place," he announced. "And we're gonna eat some pizza, and we're gonna watch a movie." Ray made no sign of seeking confirmation of this plan, and Fraser remained quiet as Ray drove, using his cell phone to order a pizza.

"And I'm picking it up, Sandor, so you tell Tony if there's no pineapple he's gonna get it, right in the head."

When they arrived at the apartment, Ray shooed Fraser into the living room with the pizza, and went to the refrigerator, coming to sit beside him with a beer in each hand. When he held one out to Fraser, he chose not to argue, accepting it and twisting off the cap to show good faith. Ray nodded, took a swig of his own beer, and went over to the shelf of cassettes, where he dug through the collection until he found what he was looking for. He tossed the cardboard sleeve on the coffee table as he set up the VCR to play, and Fraser picked it up.

It showed the face of a slightly battered action hero and a high-rise building in flames, but when Ray took his seat on the couch beside Fraser, it was with the grim implacability of a Depot instructor with an educational hygiene filmstrip. Fraser took a fortifying sip of his beer and settled in to watch.

Perhaps it was the way Ray did not relax, but continued to sit bolt upright, staring intently at the screen, his body language all but screaming at Fraser to pay attention, but it was hard not to connect his partner with the hero. From the moment he said he was a cop, and through the scenes of a disintegrating marriage, Fraser found himself equating the character McClane with Ray. He felt himself becoming emotionally invested in his heartache and the dangerous situation he inevitably found himself plunged into, even though he knew for a fact that the nature of American popular cinema was such that both would be happily resolved by the end of the film.

He was taken a little bit by surprise at the introduction of another character, one who did not equate to Ray or to Stella, an ally for McClane. A man who called McClane "partner" even though there was little he could do to help him, who supported him in every way he could despite their separation. He was mesmerized by the film then, utterly drawn in. When, near the end, McClane's partner drew his gun, Fraser knew exactly why Ray had shown him the movie. Ray went on watching intently until McClane and his wife were safely in their car, and then turned to face Fraser, ignoring the romantic moment which was, perhaps, a painful reminder of the fact that his own marriage had not benefitted from the intervention of Hollywood screenwriters. He seemed to be searching for words, and Fraser said quietly, "I understand, Ray. I will pick up ammunition for my service weapon tomorrow morning. Do you think I'll require a backup?"

Ray's mouth went tight, but he nodded. "Something with a clip, we should be able to requisition a gun. I'll get us range time in the morning, give you a call when I've got it sorted."

Fraser nodded. "That sounds good, Ray." He hesitated, and glanced at the screen, where the credits were rolling. "Ray," he said, searching for a way to say what he needed to say.

But Ray already knew. Ray had chosen the film, had known what it would make Fraser see. "Understood, Fraser. Partners, right? Partners and friends." Fraser could only nod, and Ray nodded firmly back. "Come on, then, I'll drive you home."


End file.
